


Page Six

by FleetingDesires



Series: Love Me Freely [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, John is tolerable, M/M, Mycroft Holmes IS the British Government, Office Sex, Sherlock is a good FIANCE, Sibling Incest, man what a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27399484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetingDesires/pseuds/FleetingDesires
Summary: Really, they should have been surprised to have kept their secret this long.A/N: Can be read standalone; characterisation is drawn from the series.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Love Me Freely [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986172
Comments: 30
Kudos: 62





	1. Extra, extra, read all about it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my name is FleetingDesires, and I am here to write the fics that for some reason have never been written. But why the hell not, we are all living in fantasy, It's Totally Fine land anyway.

**_Sherlock Holmes' Mystery Man is Brother, Top Royal Advisor_ **

_Sources confirm that the mystery man pictured holding hands with Sherlock Holmes last Tuesday is none other than his brother, Mycroft Holmes. He is assumed to be a top civil servant, having been previously photographed in the shadow of the Queen and various members of the Royal Family._

_Given the appearance of matching rings, reproduced in the picture above, it is unlikely that this photo merely shows a close fraternal relationship._

_Damning revelations for the brazen detective, who has not been in residence at 221B Baker Street at least since the photos were released on Tuesday. We have no doubt that this news is spreading like wildfire in the halls of Westminster right now, or even Buckingham Palace, though curiously, none of our sources within its halls are willing to speak to this matter._

_DI Lestrade of the Serious Crimes Division at Scotland Yard, longtime police liaison of Sherlock Holmes, when asked for a comment, said, "Both Mr Holmes have been of great service to us at Scotland Yard, and I have no doubt that Sherlock Holmes will continue to be an outstanding consultant." When pressured about the bringing of charges, he said that as he was unaware of any criminal activity, no charges would be brought by him, though he stressed that he was not speaking on behalf of the force._

_Curiously, it seems that the good Detective Inspector is quite right. The widely publicised Sexual Offences Amendment Act that had come into effect three months ago contained within its amendments a small, heretofore overlooked provision that decriminalises incest where both parties are of the same gender._

_John Watson, crimefighting companion and previously rumoured romantic partner of Sherlock Holmes, was unable to be reached for comment on this story._


	2. One week ago

_One week ago_

On the drive back to London from their Christmas sabbatical to the family home, Anthea calls with the news. Specifically, that they can't contain it – it's not journalists receiving tips from Mycroft's political enemies this time, but some random person on the street had taken a picture of the famous Sherlock Holmes holding hands with a stranger, and posted it on social media.

Though Mycroft may have erased all traces of his life from the public record, his enemies were sure to spread his name once he appeared on Page Six. As he scrambled to think of a way to contain the crisis, Anthea reported her estimate that the story will gain traction with major news outlets within two hours.

Sherlock immediately picked up his phone, placing a call.

"Hello, Sherlock. How is your trip to the country?"

"John, no time for chit chat. The media will descend on Baker Street in about two and a half hours. Do you have somewhere to go? And take Mrs Hudson with you."

"What? What's happened?"

"Apparently some meddling fool has papped Mycroft and I holding hands."

"Oh. Oh, that's not good."

"Do stop stating the obvious, John. Do you have anywhere to go that the media won't find you?"

"Um, well, let me think…."

After a couple of seconds of silence, Mycroft spoke. "Dr Watson, you will appraise Mrs Hudson of the situation, and take her and yourself to my residence. It is fully secured and unlisted. Sherlock will text you the address. We are on the way back to London and will be home in approximately 70 minutes. I will ensure that the security staff grants you entry should you arrive home before us."

"Alright. And I suppose I'll have to cancel my shifts at the clinic for the foreseeable future."

"I will compensate you for any lost wages during this time. My apologies for the trouble."

"Don't bother. We'll be on our way shortly."

"Okay, talk later," Sherlock said, and hung up the call without further fanfare.

At this point, Anthea piped up. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "I'm thinking we may as well bite the bullet. Let the story run, but neither confirm nor deny. After all, if we are to live openly, it's going to have to come out at some point. Sherlock?"

"Well, we've told everyone we need to tell. But are you sure that you are ready for the consequences of failing to manage the story?"

"Given my present strength at work, I estimate an 86% probability of success. It shall be to the country's loss to lose our combined services to her, and in the even it goes badly, we may still be able to weather it. I am not concerned for my career presently, but for yours, which depends very much more on public perception."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "Goldfish have significantly short memory spans, and their metaphorical equivalents are the same. With your strategy it will not have a lasting significant impact. Otherwise, how do you feel about a sunny island?"

"Not very amenably given my skin, but I suppose there are worse fates than having you– er. I'll hold that thought. Anthea, call me in to a conference with Lady Smallwood, Sir Edwin, and the rest of that group as soon as possible. You should also be present at that meeting. I will be asking Sir Edwin to loan us a counter-information team and you will coordinate them with our own to suppress all information about my role being made public."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. You had better get me Lady Smallwood and the Prime Minister before the conference, in that order. I'll need some closer political power to shut down the gossip mill from spreading outside Whitehall. Also, arrange to slip a note into Her Majesty's red box notifying her of the situation, preferably without the PM's knowledge. That will be all for now. Quarter hour updates, please."

"Yes, sir. Goodbye."

Mycroft sighed, and he took a hand off the wheel to hold Sherlock's. "Well, we're truly off the deep end again, my darling."

"On the bright side, I'll get to spend an extended period of time in your bed. I don't think I'll be going out any time soon."

Mycroft groaned. "Oh, lord. John Watson and Mrs Hudson will be there, too. You'll all go stir crazy together and one day I'll come home to find that one of them have murdered you."

"I'm sure it won't get as bad as all that. How long could it take, anyway? At the speed of news these days, I give it a week before it blows over. Hardly time enough to go stir crazy."

"I was hoping to delay the release of my name and relation to you for about a week, actually. I'll need time to shore up my defences and try to secure my position. If I am unable to do so within a week, it will be a lost cause anyway. If I do succeed, that will gain me significant leverage into the future."

"It sounds like you could keep this hidden for as long as you'd like. Why now?"

"Why not? I'd rather it be in circumstances that can largely be controlled, rather than when a crisis is emergent and I don't have the resources to spare to do it right. I don't think it would be a realistic expectation to think we might carry on as we have for much longer, and neither do I wish to. This is me moulding the world to fit us."

In lieu of a response, Sherlock simply kissed the hand he was holding. Just then, Mycroft's phone rang. The display read: _Alicia Smallwood_. "Absolute silence, Sherlock, unless I say so. Please."

Upon receiving Sherlock's acquiescence, he answered the phone. "Alicia."

"Mycroft. What's so urgent?"

"Well, it appears that a situation is developing involving my appearance in the media. It cannot be avoided, so I hope I can count on your support. Let me explain…."

Sherlock tuned out of the conversation then, his lover's political machinations of absolutely no interest to him. He started tapping away on his phone, noting that he had already been sporadically tagged in the photo asking after the identity of his secret boyfriend. Truth be told, he wasn't afraid of their relationship becoming slightly more public; in fact, he was secretly quite excited at the large scale subversion. Hiding in plain sight, right under the goldfish's noses through his lover's intelligence and casual manipulation. It had always been Mycroft's intelligence that drew Sherlock towards him, and as bits of his conversations filtered into his consciousness, the genius shining through had him unexpectedly affected.

Deciding to make things a little more challenging for Mycroft, he took the hand he was still holding, and pressed it against his growing erection. Mycroft's hand twitched, and he had to ask Lady Smallwood to repeat herself. However, Mycroft quickly overcame this distraction. He was now simultaneously driving, protecting his career while subtly advancing it, and slowly stroking Sherlock through his pants.

They continued in this fashion for the rest of the journey, as Mycroft took one call after another. Sherlock was content to be teased, but eventually, Mycroft must have gotten tired, as he simply rested his hand high up between his thighs, lightly gripping it.

Mycroft was still deep in conference when they arrived at his home, and he headed straight for his office with a quick kiss to Sherlock, while Sherlock went to the parlour in search of John and Mrs Hudson.

To his surprise, John was sat alone in there, quietly tapping away on his phone.

"Where's Mrs Hudson?"

John jerked his head up. "The blasted woman refused to leave! She said, and I quote, 'I refuse to be driven out of my own home by a pack of ruffians with cameras. If they want to take my picture, I'll make sure they get my good side.' She's mad!"

Sherlock flopped onto the couch next to him. "Dear old Hudders. She'll probably end up bringing them biccies and tea."

John shrugged. "I, for one, would like not to be in the press any more than necessary. How long will I have to be here for?"

"About two weeks. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

"This is a very fancy house, Sherlock," John observed as they ascended a short flight of stairs and down a hallway.

"It's mostly things from the old estate that Mycroft had taken out of storage. Here we are." He threw open a door somewhere in the middle of the hallway. "You'll have your own ensuite in there. Mycroft and I are at the end of the hallway. Cleaning staff and a chef comes by every Monday and Thursday. Feel free to explore, though if you encounter a locked door it'll be Mycroft's office so don't pick the lock unless you want your MI6 file to be shuffled to the top. I'm going to go take a shower."

"Um…thanks?" John mumbled, still taking in the well-appointed room, with a four-poster bed with navy blue sheets, a large writing table, expensive mahogany wardrobe and a door that must lead to the bathroom. "Hey," he shouted down the hallway, "You haven't told me what the plan is for the media!"

Sherlock turned around just as he had opened his bedroom door, and John got a peek of a room that more closely matched the description of a suite. It seemed bright and large, with a bed poster peeking out into view. If John had to guess, he would have said that the room spanned the entire width of the house.

"Mycroft's handling that. Nothing for us to do but keep silent until we have to say something, if we absolutely have to. We'll have to see." Waving a hand, Sherlock disappeared behind the door.

About an hour later, John sprang up from the luxurious bedsheets, and hurried to Sherlock's door. _Bang bang bang_. "Sherlock, it's happening!" He shouted, looking at his Twitter feed.

"Come in!" Came the muffled yell. "Yes, John, of course I see it. I'm trending!"

John hurried over to sit at the foot of the bed, where Sherlock was reclined. His eyes still glued to his phone, he groaned. "I don't think my phone battery can keep up with this deluge of mentions. Oh god. I bet my blog is going to crash."

"Better that it does, really."

As they argued, Mycroft came strolling into the room, pausing as he took in the scene.

"Well, Sherlock, I've only been gone for less than an hour and already you've invited another man into our bed. Should I be concerned?" Mycroft drawled.

"Yes, Mycroft, I've secured your devotion in a massive long con to win our game of one-upmanship." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Is that bloody likely?"

"No." Mycroft smiled, settling upon the bed. "But even if it were, I willingly submit myself to be ground under your feet if it pleases you."

"Do stop saying such daft things, my love. Stupidity does not become you." Sherlock reached out to caress the shell of Mycroft's ear before returning his gaze to his phone. "The news has hit the major tabloids and I am now the top trend on Twitter. Have you read some of these headlines? They're ridiculous."

"I have seen some of them, yes. In fact, I came here to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine. Listen to this. The mildest of headlines reads ' _Sherlock Holmes Spotted Holding Hands with Mystery Man, Husband?'_ But lo and behold, suddenly this inanity: _'Hat Detective No Longer England's Most Eccentric Bachelor_ '. Eccentric?" Sherlock scoffed. "Can't you do anything about this reporting?"

"Oh, lord, this is even worse," John interjected. "'John Watson crushed; Sherlock seen out with new beau.' And where'd they get _that_ picture of me?!"

"That's one good thing to come out of this, at least," Mycroft said darkly. "In any case, the cat's out of the bag now, I'm afraid. My resources are even now working to prevent the release of my name to the papers so I'm afraid you'll have to live with overt sensationalism for a while longer. It's likely going to get worse."

Mycroft plucked the phone out of Sherlock's hands with a sound of protest. "But seriously, my darling. How are you?"

Before Sherlock could get a chance to respond, Mycroft's phone rang. His eyes widened as he clocked the caller. "Oh, _fuck_ ," he said. His eyes flew back to Sherlock. "We've forgotten to tell our parents."

Sherlock's eyes lit with mirth. "Give it over."

Mycroft sighed as he did so, settling in beside Sherlock. He whipped out his work phone and started typing on it. About five minutes later, he leaned in to whisper to Sherlock. "I'm going to make some calls to our family in my office."

Sherlock nodded, staying Mycroft with a grip on his hand. "Mummy," he interrupted, "tell them that Mycroft and I will be contacting them shortly. We'll take the job off your hands. Thanks. Got to go, now." He hung up the phone.

To Mycroft, he said, "You can blackmail who you like to keep your job. I'll handle those who have no such political stakes." He smiled. "Isn't the deep end fun?"

"For a certain value of the term, I suppose. Thank you. I'd best be off now."

"Yes, go. I love you, My." He pulled him in for a kiss.

"Always," Mycroft murmured against his lips, locking their gazes for a moment before he shifted away. "John." He gave the man a nod, before leaving the room.

John waved weakly as Mycroft left, and was greeted by a raised brow when he returned his attention to Sherlock. "What? I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking very loudly. In any case, I do have calls to make, so." Sherlock gestured towards the door.

John got up from the foot of the bed. "Yes, I'll go. Er. That was very nice of you to offer to help Mycroft."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Isn't that what partners do?"

"Of course, of course. Yes. Right. I'll be off then. See you later." John hurriedly left the room.

Later that night, the sound of a door slamming ricocheted through the house, quickly followed by Sherlock storming into the kitchen in one of his Moods, a black cloud almost made physical around him.

Sherlock paced aggressively around the space, before he stormed over to a vase, retrieving from within it a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He threw open a nearby window and lit a cigarette, seeing through a fog of red and steadying his hand through sheer force of will.

After a few moments, Mycroft found Sherlock, placing a gentle hand on the nape of Sherlock's neck. He relaxed into the touch, leaning into Mycroft, as he finished his cigarette.

Finally, Sherlock said, "I'm going to need a new phone."

"I'll have one sent over right away. What happened?"

"The levels of stupidity the goldfish can express never cease to amaze me, even when they're our family." He rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you deal with it, My. I gave up on convincing them halfway through my first conversation and just threatened property damage to the lot of them. Hopeless cases one and all."

Mycroft mulled this over. "Well, it sounds like you've gotten the job done. What made you so angry?"

"All anyone was interested in was trying to convince me that I was wrong. That _we_ are wrong. I'm so sick of justifying our relationship. To everyone. I don't care what anyone thinks, and I don't know why they think that anything they say will make a whit of difference to me."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Mycroft murmured, massaging the nape of his neck. "Do you want to stop this whole thing? I can get an injunction against the publications tomorrow."

Sherlock shook his head firmly. "No. You've spent the whole day shoring up your defences; to back down now will look ridiculous and weak. It's better this way. Let them talk and condemn and whatever else they like, then they'll move on. I just want to love you freely, out there in the world, regardless of all of it."

"And you will. I promise it. Once it is done, we'll stoke the flames a little, let London get used to us. Box seats at the opera, central tables at the top restaurants, and anything else you like."

Sherlock took a breath and eventually smiled, placing his arms around Mycroft. "You make me sound like a frivolous society debutante."

"You're far more interesting and attractive by half, if today's gossip headlines are anything to go by. Should I count myself lucky to have nabbed one of England's top bachelors, according to certain publications?" He teased.

"Much more of that and you won't be." Sherlock growled, before he tipped his head for a kiss. Mycroft was only too happy to oblige, and they stood in a gentle embrace, kissing softly as they swayed, as though to music that only they could hear. They both ran gentle hands over the other, draining the tensions of the day away until the only thing that existed for either of them was this single moment, being so tuned into each other that their breaths and heartbeats synced.

As they separated, Mycroft caressed Sherlock's cheek. He opened his eyes lazily, his gaze clouded over. "I'd remake the whole world for you," Mycroft murmured.

"For us," Sherlock corrected. "I love you too, My." He leaned in to rest his head on Mycroft's shoulder, as they continued to rock against, and with, each other.

This is how John found them a few minutes later, having searched the rest of the house for Sherlock. He stopped at the edge of the threshold as he took in the scene, and was just about to leave when Mycroft spotted him.

With a small smile, he said, "Sherlock, I fear we are neglecting our guest. Shall we have dinner together?"

"Don't wanna," he mumbled into Mycroft's shoulder, tightening his hold around Mycroft.

"I know you don't, but I really do insist on it. Food is a necessity of life, darling."

"For you, maybe," he mumbled again, before raising his head in horror to look at his lover's surprised face. "Oh, fucking hell, you know I don't mean it. I'm sorry."

After a beat, Mycroft relaxed. "The first part of your penance shall be sitting down to dinner with Dr Watson and I without acting like a brat." He dipped his head to whisper directly into Sherlock's ear, dropping his voice to a seductive rumble. "I'll collect on the remainder later. If you're very good, I might even let you choose your punishment."

John felt a flush creep on to his face as he saw a shiver run through Sherlock at whatever Mycroft had said to him. He hurried to the fridge, completely ignoring the situation as best he could, before asking, "So… what are we having?"


	3. Present day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upgrade to E.

_Present day_

One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty eight hours. Ten thousand and eighty minutes. And two days. Must not forget the blasted delay. How it could drag on and on and on and _on_. Sherlock was currently face-down on the couch in the parlour, while the muffled sounds of John nattering away with the chef filtered through the house.

Sherlock resisted the urge to scream as he wracked his brain for something, _anything_ to do to alleviate this never-ending trudge of minutes, one positively crawling into the next. There were only so many experiments that he could do without his equipment, or without destroying Mycroft's house (he could not give less of a hoot about Baker Street, but he did have a care from Mr Prim's things, for it was _his_ Mr Prim), he'd already worked through the latest tranche of stupid little puzzles Lestrade had given him, and doing Mycroft's might just do his head in for good, so he had started a bonfire in the yard an hour ago.

To add insult to injury, living with Mycroft for an entire week was not the paradise he had thought it would be. For one, John was always bloody underfoot. For two, Mycroft had been practically chained to his desk to work damage control, coming home only for a few short hours each night to sleep before going back into the office again. Thankfully, Sherlock thought, he might hope for the return of his sex life tonight, as the news was due to hit the next day and Mycroft had taken the day off, though they both knew that Mycroft would still be obsessively checking in with Anthea. 

As he laid there contemplating the benefits of cocaine, his ears perked up. That was the sound of a car pulling in, and…. The front door opening… footsteps towards the kitchen?… and approaching his direction now. He'd recognise that gait even while high on seven different types of drugs.

He twisted around to look up into the amused face of one Mycroft Holmes.

"It seems that I may have just saved my library from being tossed into the ash pile in the yard," Mycroft said drily.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Mycroft said, shedding his coat before sitting on the floor. "You'll be glad to know that your house arrest is ending soon. The papers will have my name any moment now." He sighed quietly as he slowly rubbed his face, and stared off into the middle distance, lost in thought.

In silence, Sherlock looked him over, reaching out to caress his hair soothingly. Mycroft reached for his other hand, kissing it softly as he looked at Sherlock like he held all the answers he needed for whatever was troubling him.

After a few moments, it dawned on Sherlock that they were pretty much in the same place as their affair had started. With a mysterious smile, he slid off the couch, settling next to Mycroft in the same position. Mycroft quickly caught on, smiling softly as they link their fingers together between them.

They sat there in their own bubble for a long time, each thinking about the other, of the times they had enjoyed together since the first time they sat this way, of all the things that had changed. Finally, Mycroft whispered, "It's a pity the scene isn't quite complete without the letters."

"I think your name in the news today might surpass those letters in grandness of your romantic gestures."

Sherlock watched as the fear and doubt crept back into Mycroft's eyes. "I don't think I can quite believe how completely I've imploded both our lives. I'd never thought we'd be in this position. Now that it's happened, it seems far less romantic and far more terrifying."

"What are you afraid of?"

"That you'll come to resent me if I fail, and I have to take you away from London."

"Why, are you planning to send me packing alone?"

"What–? No, of course not. If you have to leave, so do I. And I wouldn't, couldn't be without you."

"Then I don't see how I could resent having everything I want." He placed a hand on Mycroft's cheek. "Now, say it."

Mycroft smiled. "My darling."

"Always yours," Sherlock murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

As predicted by both Holmeses, the same time the following week saw Sherlock back Baker Street and at one of Lestrade's crime scenes. However, Sherlock did not anticipate that he would have to still deal with straggler paparazzi that refused to move on. He might have been able to tuned them out to focus on the work, but as he walked around the crime scene, Sally kept adding unhelpful remarks.

When he finally straightened up to shoot a murderous glare at her, Lestrade stepped in for his own sanity. "Leave him alone, Sally. The faster you let him work, the sooner you'll be free of him."

"But, boss! I can't believe you'd still–"

"No. More. Of. That." Lestrade gritted out. "I'm not breaking any regulations and I'm more interested in catching a killer. Go and help Anderson over there."

As Sally opened her mouth to protest once more, Lestrade simply pointed harshly in Anderson's direction. With a last hateful glare towards Sherlock, she stalked away.

Sherlock walked off in the opposite direction, placing a call on his phone.

"My."

"Hello, dearest."

"I can't _work_ with the damn press hanging about. Do arrange for a scandal to break for literally anybody else."

"Well, there is a little situation that may develop into a scandal, with the right nudging, but I'll need your help with it."

"You know I hate to work for you, My, it's so _boring_ ," Sherlock griped.

"Yes, but otherwise I'd have to owe a favour to a person about to undergo parliamentary scrutiny, so I'd rather not. Please, Sherlock. At least come to my office to have a look at the file."

Sherlock was silent for a moment as he surveyed the crime scene again. "I'll be there in three hours."

"Oh, perfect. I'll have Anthea order us lunch."

Sherlock perked up, his annoyances momentarily forgotten. "Lunch hour? I'll have something else, if you don't mind. Then we can discuss business."

"Why, Sherlock Holmes, you shock and surprise me. Trading sexual favours for helping me on a little problem?"

"It's mutual gratification in both cases, but I'll enjoy the first one far more."

"Well, I'm massively complimented that it surpasses the solving of a puzzle."

" _Massive_? If this is the best of your subliminal tactics, I worry for our country."

"I didn't intend for it to escape your esteemed intelligence, my darling."

"It barely required any. Go back to running half the English-speaking world, would you?"

"Now I'm offended that you think I am limited by language."

Sherlock knew that Mycroft would be able to feel him rolling his eyes. "Unlike some of us, I actually have work to do right now. Ta."

"Love you too, darling."

Sherlock rang off with a small smile on his face, until a camera flashed in his face, immediately plunging him back into a gloomy mood.

Eyes followed Sherlock as he walked into MI6 headquarters that afternoon, his coat billowing dramatically behind him as he brushed stray droplets of rain from his hair. He was not an uncommon sight around these parts, though this was the first time that he had visited since the news hit. Where previously there had been reluctant respect for the brother of their boss's boss's boss that did most of their jobs better than they could have done it, their suspicions made them all the more wary of Sherlock. He was given a wide berth as he waited for the lift, and both it and his phone pinged at the same time.

_Was it truly necessary to make quite such an entrance, lover mine? - M_

_It was primarily for your benefit. - SH_ , he fired back as the doors closed. He quirked an eyebrow as he spotted someone looking at his phone, and they quickly averted their eyes. Sherlock scoffed. _One can only hope you're not sent out in the field._

The situation in Mycroft's bunker was far more normal. Sherlock took the public route to Mycroft's office, passing the offices and cubicles of the agents directly under his control; there was nary a batted eyelid at his presence. When Anthea looked up at his approach, he said, "How did you manage that?" He pointed his thumb at the general area.

Anthea smirked, amused and flattered that Sherlock had accurately deduced her role in Mycroft's office. "There are far more important things happening in the world than their boss's personal life. Especially when they know what the two of you are capable of together."

"Only as much as we want them to." Sherlock winked as Mycroft opened his office door.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said, a subtle heat in his voice only discernible by Sherlock's long familiarity with all things Mycroft.

"Mycroft." Sherlock walked towards him, placing a hand gently on Mycroft's chest. He turned and smirked at Anthea as he curled his hand around Mycroft's waistcoat and tugged him into the office with him.

Anthea pretended that the heavy slam of the office door behind them was completely normal and not at all caused by bodies slamming it closed, shooting daggers at anyone she caught looking in that direction for more than a second.

On the other side of the door, Sherlock had Mycroft pinned, and was presently kissing him breathless, his tongue delving and tangling with Mycroft's. After a few moments of this assault, Mycroft firmly pushed Sherlock back, nudging him away from the door and towards the couch.

As Sherlock set his deft fingers to undoing his many buttons, Mycroft murmured, "Enjoyed your flaunt through the building, did you?"

"Just observing their reactions to me had me half-hard, though your minions right out there were distinctly unimpressed."

"Good, or I'll have to reassign them to lands far and dangerous," Mycroft growled, as he roughly ripped the coat off of Sherlock. "I'm glad you revelled in the shock and awe, but you failed to notice that a significant proportion were also cursing me for getting to have you."

"It couldn't have come as a great surprise that I have some redeeming factors to seduce you into an incestuous affair." Mycroft's tie, pin and all, was flung to parts unknown as he continued cursing and divesting Mycroft's sartorial choices.

"Rather too much of it was on display for my liking. Plus, do you think I want them to think I am ruled by my cock?"

"That's rich, coming from a man about to fuck me in his office. Surely your continued presence says that your brain is massive enough to mitigate its occasional abdication from power."

"There is nothing 'occasional' about it," Mycroft said as his lips descended on Sherlock's neck, sucking a prominent bruise, nipping at it with his teeth to give Sherlock that added zing of pleasure-pain. "Though for public purposes its safest they don't twig to the fact that it is my heart that rules, and not any other part of my anatomy." He laved and bit along Sherlock's now-exposed shoulder, leaving small bruises as he went.

Sherlock hummed as Mycroft continued to pepper small bruises all about his chest, impatiently pushing at his trousers. "You don't have to mark your territory so primally, you know."

"As you so often like to say, it couldn't hurt."

"How about just a little bit?" He asked as he gripped Mycroft's erection, and it gave a twitch of interest. Mycroft poured his groan into Sherlock's open mouth, before he spun him around.

"As you wish. Hands and knees, pet." Sherlock scrambled on to the couch to comply. Mycroft ran tantalising fingers up and down his spine, pulling a moan from Sherlock as he inspected the object presently blocking his entrance.

"Well, what do we have here?" He said, drawing out a groan as he wiggled the butt plug side to side. It was a purely functional object, with a ring at the end that he now used to great effect. "You took the long way around the building to get to my office with this in you?" He twisted it none-too-gently, causing Sherlock to arch his back with a gasp. "Who were you hoping to tease, Sherlock?"

"I– I– Me." Sherlock gasped out between groans, as Mycroft continued to torture him.

"Hmm, I don't think I believe you. If I'm not mistaken, the size of this plug isn't big enough to tease you into a frenzy from walking about. I think," he leaned in close to growl directly into Sherlock's ear, letting his body heat seep through his back, "I think you wanted to tease _me_. Wiggling this arse about for all those agents who couldn't take their eyes off you. Having them imagine the salacious things we must do behind closed doors. Having them fantasise about taking my place, maybe? You know, pet, if you wanted to be fucked hard, all you had to do was ask."

As he spoke, he had been methodically stretching Sherlock with the plug, teasing Sherlock to a peak in the process. Panting, Sherlock said, "Yes, _please_."

He gave Sherlock's ass cheek a smack, grabbing it lightly. "I really shouldn't be encouraging you, but we don't have all day so lets just say I've made a half-hearted attempt at discouraging future such behaviour." Mycroft murmured. He nipped at Sherlock's earlobe before he retreated to kneel behind him once again.

Slicking himself up with his own spit for additional lubrication, he gently removes the plug, before pushing his cock in, pulsing at the hot tightness of it. After all this time, he's become an expert at Sherlock's body language; he keeps Sherlock at the edge of pain as he enters, the way he prefers it.

Once he is seated, Mycroft gives them both a few moments to adjust, first moving in slow strokes. At Sherlock's persistent moans for _more_ , he ramped up to the rough fucking he asked for, grabbing Sherlock by the hair to haul his body up and wrapping his other arm around his shoulders.

"Is this what you were looking for?" He asked between thrusts, raking his nails across Sherlock's chest.Sherlock's only response was to groan loudly, reaching back to squeeze Mycroft's arse in encouragement.

Mycroft growled as he pushed Sherlock face down into the cushions, grabbing at his hips and ensuring that his fingers would leave lasting marks. "You like it when I mark you all over your beautiful skin? To walk out there with them sitting right under your perfectly tailored clothes, relishing in dancing around suspicions of whether and how you got fucked in this office?"

" _Fuck_ , Mycroft," Sherlock gasped in apparent agreement, as he reached a hand down to stroke himself.

"No– wait." Mycroft paused as he reached for a nearby shirt – thankfully within reach – and laid it on the couch in front of Sherlock. "We'll spare Anthea's blushes this time."

Both Sherlock and Mycroft resumed their activities, Mycroft now pulling Sherlock by the shoulder against him as he drove into him. "But wait," Sherlock panted, "Whose shirt is this?"

"Yours, I think."

"Oh _god_ , Mycroft," Sherlock moaned.

"You can hold off on coming if you'd rather not soil it." Mycroft teased, even as he adjusted his angle in order to thrust into Sherlock's prostate more insistently, as he chased their orgasms.

"Fuck you, you're making it impossible."

"That's too bad. I'm close, pet, come with me."

Sherlock nodded frantically, coming hard as he heard Mycroft moan his name and felt the hot splash of Mycroft's come inside of him.

Mycroft planted open mouthed kisses across Sherlock's back as he came down from his orgasm high, while Sherlock deliberately cleaned his come-covered hand across the back of the couch.

"You're terrible," Mycroft murmured as he spied the action out of the corner of his eye. "Just for that, I'm going to plug you up again."

Sherlock snorted. "Don't pretend that wasn't your plan all along, darling. What better way to complete your primal marking of me?"

Mycroft scraped his teeth on Sherlock's neck in admonishment, before he pulled out and made good on his promise. He tugged Sherlock's shirt to the floor before lying on the couch with a huff. Sherlock rolled his eyes before settling into the inviting open arm Mycroft presented to him.

They cuddled on the couch for a while before getting down to business, Mycroft having to call Anthea to arrange for a new shirt for Sherlock. Mycroft privately thanked his previous self for selecting a leather couch so he didn't have to arrange for a cleaning service.

As Sherlock stepped out of the office after their meeting, Anthea had to press her lips together to stop herself from laughing at the numerous marks peeking out from his flipped coat collar,settling instead for exchanging humorous looks with him. As Mycroft closed his door on them, Sherlock unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing several more partially hidden marks.

"I can't see how a few more will make any difference, do you?" Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.

"No, although I'll bet a few people will probably try to capitalise on a good mood this afternoon."

Sherlock shrugged. "That's your problem. I've got mine." He waved the folder he was holding. "The things I do to get the press off my back."

The attention Sherlock received on his walk out of the building was no different than the first, except– far, far more whispering, and eyes quickly darting away from him. Just before he exited the building, he shot the nearest security camera a wink as he flipped down his collar to put his marks on full display, walking brazenly into the plaza.

In the end, the distraction of another scandal only worked for a short time, as Sherlock refused to change their amount of public visibility, no matter how irritated he got. They kept getting snapped by press and Sherlock's fans whenever they went out – which wasn't a lot, given their busy schedules – but with Mycroft working behind the scenes to contain the outrage, all the media had to print were pictures of them looking dapper as they went to the opera in perfectly tailored tuxes, grainy long-range photos of dinner by candlelight, or, once, Mycroft looking on concernedly after Sherlock took another dip in the Thames, tenderly brushing the hair back from Sherlock's face.

The interest in them eventually tapered off from a fever pitch; much like one would suspect a population to treat a superhero, or perhaps the average rule-flouting celebrity, the London public seemed to begrudging grant Sherlock an exception to its usual prohibition against incestuous relationships.

One night, late in June, Mycroft and Sherlock were snuggling in front of the fire sharing a glass of whisky when Mycroft asked, "So, now that the public have largely lost interest about us… Might it be a good time to start planning our wedding?"

_fin_

_….for now. ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting the boys to get down and dirty in Mycroft's office for so. long. I saw my chance and took it. I do not apologise for the randomness of its appearance. 
> 
> As always, leave a kudos if you liked it and/or come have a chat in the comments and let me know what you think! xxx


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